


if you say i’m always yours

by stilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Android!Stiles, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinski/pseuds/stilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Let’s see how easily you can move around after being pretty much dead for at least a month."</p><p>"I had an uncle once, actually. Seemed kind of limber for an undead guy,” Derek says without really thinking it through. Stiles gapes at him, as though unsure whether to take him seriously or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you say i’m always yours

**Author's Note:**

> The ever wonderful [Viola](http://halelaur.tumblr.com) prompted me to write a fic inspired by Aqua's Barbie Girl.
> 
> So... yeah. Hastily written, would-be crack (if I hadn't gotten smacked around by _feelings_ part way through). Fun all around!
> 
> P.S. You should also [check the hell out of this](http://sterekboberek.tumblr.com/post/48882812311/teen-wolf-au-android-stiles-inspired-by-these) because Brii is flawless.
> 
>  
> 
> **Additionally: I do not give my consent for my work to be shared on GoodReads, or any other site with a similar objective. Ever. No exceptions.**

The ST1-LE5 stands in the corner, lifeless. Derek's still not sure where it came from; Laura's taken to picking through scrap yards and bringing home things for him to tinker with, keep his mind occupied. The android's a little scratched and battered, looking frail. Its power supply and wiring are a mess, but Derek finds himself drawn to it one evening. Laura's out and Derek's been browsing forums on the internet for far too long. He hauls himself across the room to inspect the ST1. It's not a particularly old model, but Stilinski Corp went out of business when recession swept the nation, so only the androids kept by the technologically more-than-savvy were able to retain power because their masters were able to play with the wiring enough to hook them up with an independent power source. Derek's read all about them, could do it in his sleep if he had to.

 He stares at the android consideringly before pulling it around to inspect the panel on its back.

 Derek's sitting in the middle of his room surrounded by bits and pieces of android when Laura gets home; the sun's just rising and she fixes him with a look through his open door.

 "You wanted me busy," Derek says. "I'm busy."

 She says nothing, goes into the kitchen and Derek can hear her pulling out two mugs. He smiles. He knows she worries about him; he worries about her, too, but their best days are the ones they don't need to talk much, they operate on instinct and take care of one another without having to ask.

 Another few hours pass and Derek's shirt is filthy from cleaning the android up. He's on his fourth cup of coffee since Laura got home and all he needs to do is--

 "Holy shit!"

 Derek steps back, startled. He's fairly sure he hadn't spoken, and Laura's voice is considerably higher than the one he's just heard. The android's face is moving, lifelike. Brown eyes that seem to glow are darting around, like it's having trouble focusing. Derek stands, stock still, until those eyes find him.

 "Whoa - who are you?"

 Derek wonders, briefly, if the reason that the ST1 was dumped was not because its parent company went bust but because it seems to have the vocabulary of a sixteen year old boy.

 "I'm Derek," he says, figuring he may as well make an introduction. He can shut the ST1 down with a swipe of his hand if need be, but it doesn't seem hostile. "Who are you?"

 "You were all up in my junk like, twenty seconds ago and you're telling me you don't even know me? Dude--"

 "You're an ST1-LE5 Stilinski android my sister found in a dump just outside of town," Derek says, narrowing his eyes. "You've been standing in my living room for a month and I just reanimated you."

 "Oh," says the android. "I'm Stiles."

 "Stiles."

 "That's what I said, big guy," says Stiles with an eye roll. Derek kind of wishes he knew who Stiles' previous master was, so he can go and smack them. Derek's been around androids his entire life, has helped program a few from scratch, and this is by far the most lifelike, in that it seems to have a larger vocabulary than most androids - Derek's never known an android to use colloquialisms like 'dude' - and appears to need a bit of an attitude adjustment. Derek wonders if Stiles' previous master was an actual sixteen year old boy. Maybe a rich kid who decided not to bother with the android once it was past Christmas.

 "You're an ST1-LE5, and your name is Stiles," Derek says; Stiles' mouth drops open and his eyes narrow in a way that would scream danger were Derek not a werewolf and well equipped to handle irritated human-like robots. "For the record, I was nowhere near your ' _junk_ '. You were wearing those shorts when you got here, and I've made no move to remove them. Believe me, your virtue is safe."

 Stiles snorts, actually snorts, and shrugs. "Hey, you never know."

 Derek rolls his eyes. He turns away, partially out of curiosity to see what the android does, and begins tidying up. He bins the ruined cables he's replaced, putting his tools back. He yanks his wife beater over his head and pads across the room to retrieve a fresh one from his drawers.

 "Jesus."

 "Derek, actually."

 "Funny. I've never heard that one before. You're so original, it's a wonder you're not making millions on stage as a comedian. Anyway, you've gotta warn a guy when you're feeling the urge to just strip off, dude."

 Derek turns to look at Stiles, dirty wife beater in one hand and clean one in the other. He lifts an eyebrow. Stiles says nothing, lips parted slightly and damn, that shouldn't send Derek's mind coursing in directions he doesn't want it to. Stiles is a robot - mostly. A robot with synthetic skin, hair and eyes that are as close to real as it's possible to get. Derek shakes his head and pulls on the clean top.

 "Stiles, meet Laura," Derek says as he walks past Laura on the couch; the apartment is open plan except for the two bedrooms and bathroom. Derek turns just in time to see Stiles almost trip over himself trying to walk properly.

 "Been a while?" Laura asks, teeth bared in a grin. Stiles scowls at her, righting himself and dusting his chest down. "Derek, get the poor kid some clothes."

 "You get the poor kid some clothes," Derek responds, washing his hands at the kitchen sink before sighing and heading back into his room. Stiles follows, his weird, uneven shuffle over the carpet giving him away; he doesn't react when Derek thrusts a pair of sweatpants and a henley at him.

 "Dude," Stiles says, and he actually embodies the word awkward then. "You might not have noticed, but movement is not my strong point right now."

 "You're a robot--"

 "Android. I'm almost as human as you are, fucker, and twice as intelligent," Stiles says - snarls, really - and his arms twitch almost as though he's trying to throw them up in the air for emphasis. "Who knows how long I've been lying in a trash pile, exposed to all of the elements and chemicals out there? Let's see how easily you can move around after being pretty much dead for at least a month."

 "I had an uncle once, actually. Seemed kind of limber for an undead guy," Derek says without really thinking it through. Stiles gapes at him, as though unsure whether to take him seriously or not. Derek grunts, lips thinning into a firm line. He moves closer to Stiles and tugs the henley over Stiles' head, manhandling his - soft, warm, lifelike - arms into the sleeves as hastily as he can and with minimum contact.

 "Watch the goods! Bruise like a peach," Stiles says, then sighs, genuinely miserable, before Derek can even open his mouth. "It's a figure of speech. I know, no blood, no ability to bruise, _robot_ , right?"

 Derek's silent for a few moments, then steps back. "I'm going to have to get ' _all up in your junk_ ' to change your pants," he says, deadpan, and is rewarded by Stiles cracking a grin. Inexplicably, Derek feels something loosen in his chest at the sight.

 "Only if you promise to be gentle," says Stiles, and is he flirting with Derek? Derek's never known an android to have the ability to flirt.

 "Do you remember your last master? Owner? Whatever you call humans?" Derek asks, mostly to distract them both from the fact he's undressing Stiles' lower half. He's done it dozens of times with other androids, but usually only if they were inert. This feels like he's actually dressing a living, breathing human being.

 "I had a family," Stiles says. "Kind of. Mr. Whittemore purchased me to look after his son because he and his wife were always out of town. Jackson... didn't like me, he used to make me do all of his chores, but there's a line of programming in me that says I have to obey anything Mr. Whittemore orders me to do, and his order was for me to do anything Jackson wanted me to do. I was a doll, a living doll."

 Derek frowns. He's far from the most compassionate guy on the planet, but there are entire handbooks written about the mistreatment of androids: there are even android rights movements. He lifts each of Stiles' feet in turn to get rid of the torn up canvas shorts he'd been wearing, barely pausing before repeating the actions to get the sweats around his ankles. He grabs the sides of the waistband and tugs them up, as quickly and carefully as he can, keeping his eyes focused on Stiles' shoulder. It still feels strange, intimate. Stiles doesn't feel, act, sound or smell like an android. The only thing that gives away that he's not human, physically, are the unnatural dents in his skin. Derek wonders if they're why he can't move him limbs very well.

 "We'll get those dents fixed tomorrow," Derek says. "They're probably restricting your movement. You should rest - we don't want to strain your circuits or anything, particularly if you've been out of commission for a while. I have a spare recharging cell you can plug into."

 Stiles looks ready to protest, but his entire body chooses that moment to be racked with a spasm and he jerks his head in a rough estimation of a nod. Derek pulls his easy chair - little more than a glorified (salvaged) sun lounger - out of the corner and sets it near a socket. Stiles allows himself to be guided into a sitting position, doesn't protest as Derek lifts his legs and swings him around so that he appears comfortable at least. Derek can feel Stiles' eyes on him as he hooks Stiles up to the portable charging cell he has - he's got it on an extended loan from work, an extended loan they're not aware of, granted, but nobody needs to know that.

 "Take some standby," Derek says, and Stiles' lips quirk at that. "Yell if you need something - unless it's the middle of the night and I'm sleeping, because I _will_ rip out your power supply. With my teeth."

 Stiles gives him a broad grin before his eyes flutter closed. The detail on him is incredible, Derek realises, now that he's close enough to see the occasional mole marring Stiles' pale not-skin, see the way his long, dark eyelashes seem to fan over his cheeks.

 Derek makes his way back out into the apartment. Laura's giving him a curious look and he ignores her, beginning to prepare dinner.

*

Stiles's eyes are open and examining his surroundings when Derek rolls out of bed the following morning. He's flexing the fingers on his right hand, still plugged into the mains. Derek pads across the room, leaning across Stiles to flip the switch off and unplug him.

 "I'm no good at getting dents out," Derek says, sitting on the edge of the bed to look at Stiles, who frowns. "I have a friend, Boyd, who does the actual building and putting together of androids - if you're okay with being _handled_ a little more, I can ask him to come over and take a look."

 Stiles frowns some more and tips his head to one side.

 "What?"

 "No, it's--nothing. It's nothing. You can call your friend - it'll be nice to be able to move properly again."

 Derek instinctively reaches out and grips Stiles' forearm. "Stiles, what's wrong?"

 "Nothing's _wrong_ ," Stiles says. "It's just strange - you asking if it's okay with me to do something, asking me what's wrong. I'm just not used to that - it's strange to me."

 Derek squeezes the arm; he has no idea if Stiles can _feel_ or not, but something about Stiles has inspired a protectiveness he's never felt for anyone but his family. "You'll get used to it," Derek says. "You're here to stay, Stiles. As soon as you're up and running properly, Laura will have delegated you a third of the household chores. You'lll be roped into cooking dinner at least once a week and everything. You'll be treated like anyone else here, not as a robot. You're closer to human than robot, as you graciously reminded me yesterday."

 "You're not just going to sell me on?"

 Derek rolls his eyes. "No," he says. "Laura thinks you're adorable and she thinks I need the company. I work from home and she works nights and has class during the day. She wants you to stay, and I didn't use up half of my spare pieces to get you running again just to throw you back out with the trash. You're part of our little pack, now, android or not."

 "Dude," Stiles says quietly. " _Dude_ , I feel like we should be bro hugging this out right now."

 "Don't push it," Derek grunts, standing. "I'm going to go make eggs. Want anything?"

 "I'm good," Stiles says, grinning. "Thanks, though."

*

Boyd stops by and has a look at Stiles. Derek sits on his bed watching. Stiles hasn't moved sinc Boyd got in the door.

 "Jesus, Derek, what did you do it it?" Boyd asks, turning from his squat to stand. "It's a top of the range model - spare parts aren't easy to come by."

 "Him, and Derek didn't do this," Stiles says. To his credit, Boyd doesn't even jump, turning to look at Stiles, who's scowling up at him. "My previous family did this. I got kicked around a lot, then the kid went fucking crazy and they shipped him off to London, so as far as the Whittemores were concerned, I had failed and fulfilled my use, so they dumped me."

 Stiles' tone is flat, matter-of-fact, and it gets under Derek's skin. He's irritated by the blatant misuse of an android. Boyd seems a little ticked, too: he's been working with androids almost as long as Derek has; he's a renowned and trusted mechanic, just as respected in the android community as Derek himself, able to fix anything that drags itself through the door of his garage.

 "I can fix him," Boyd says, still talking to Derek but looking at Stiles. "But it'll have to be using what's already there - I don't have the budget to spend on spare parts for this model."

 "Money isn't an issue," Derek says. "If you need money, I'll give you the money to get him fixed - give me a figure and I'll write you a check."

 Stiles is looking at him with open curiosity. He looks at Boyd and jerks his head in an approximation of shaking it. "See how bad it is to just work with what's here. I don't really want to watch you saw off my limbs. Knew a guy who lost an arm, once - he was never the same. Poor fucker. I mean, I'm not squeamish, but it wasn't pretty."

 Derek and Boyd stare at him for a few moments before Boyd laughs. "It's kind of poetic that you've ended up with the chattiest, mouthiest android I've ever come across," he says. Derek glares at him and Boyd, unaffected, shrugs. "I'm gonna have to shut you down--"

 "--Stiles--"

 "--an ST1-LE5 called Stiles. Cute," Boyd says, grinning; Stiles responds with a smug smirk, looking over at Derek. "Anyway, Stiles, I'm gonna have to shut you down so I can get into you."

 "On the first date?" Stiles quips. "I thought I'd at least get dinner first, but if you must..."

 Derek ducks in to curl an arm around Stiles' back and pulls him forward. Stiles laughs in his ear but doesn't explain why.

 Boyd gets to work, shooing Derek out of the room so he can't hover. Derek distracts himself, burying himself in programming. Boyd emerges a few hours later, wiping his hands on a rag.

 "His legs should be fine," Boyd says. "His arms might glitch and freeze up a bit - I really don't want to know what this kid was doing to him. He should be able to move on his own now, though. May be a little clumsy, but he'll be able to do most things, now. Keep him moving and he'll be fine."

 "Thanks, Boyd," Derek says, pushing himself to his feet just as Stiles ambles into the room. "Do I owe you anything? What have you missed out on at the shop for coming here?"

 Boyd holds up a hand. "It's okay. Erica and Isaac are at the shop, holding down the fort," he says. "Don't worry about payment. Erica wants you and Laura, and probably Stiles when I tell her, to come for dinner this week."

 Derek nods and Boyd leaves. Stiles grins, arms twitching before he holds them out. Derek snorts and brushes past him. "Come on, we'll go out and buy you some clothes. Laura doesn't even let _me_ sit around in sweats all day, even if she's never here."

 Stiles squirms a little, looking uncomfortable. Derek claps his shoulder and pockets his wallet. Stiles is still hanging back by the time Derek gets to the front door. "Sorry, I just -- last time I got taken out, I didn't come back, you know?"

 "I'm not going to ditch you," Derek says. "Look - here, you keep the key."

 Derek tucks the front door key into Stiles' hand - the door locks on the outside automatically when it closes. Stiles seems a little more at ease as they leave the building. They walk along and Stiles sticks so close that their shoulders are almost constantly in contact; even when they get into a cab, Stiles sits close, fingers moving restlessly. Derek hesitates before resting a hand on his shoulder. Stiles relaxes and leans into the touch, his eyes still fixed beyond the window.

*

Stiles integrates himself into Derek's life with relative ease. Without being asked, he keeps the apartment tidy, makes sure Laura's uniform is clean and ensures that Derek doesn't forget to eat when he gets caught up in his programs and codes. Laura brings her university work home and allows Stiles to sit with her; she scowls and shoves him every time he points out a mistake she's made, but thanks him once her work is done and finishes his chores for the day for him. Derek has set up a second chest of drawers in his room for Stiles, which had resulted in Stiles launching himself at Derek and almost crushing him in a hug.

 Stiles settles on the couch most nights; he doesn't need to sleep and he doesn't need to recharge: his movements generate enough kinetic energy that he essentially powers himself, and he tells Derek that he just feels creepy spending the night sitting in the corner of Derek's bedroom while he sleeps.

 Derek takes Stiles to dinner at Boyd and Erica's. Erica fawns over him and Stiles sits there looking a little overwhelmed. He shifts his chair closer to Derek's, evidently trying to be subtle about it. Derek drapes an arm over the back of Stiles' chair and leaves it there, making Stiles relax enough to hold conversation with Boyd; Stiles can hold his own in a verbal sparring match with Laura, and by the end of the night, he's laughing and teasing Erica, giving every bit as good as he gets.

 Stiles doesn't blush, but he looks and acts flustered when Erica kisses his cheek at the end of the night. He hides himself behind Derek's shoulder as he and Laura say goodnight.

 Derek lets Stiles lean into him as they walk home. It's disconcerting that Derek can't hear a heartbeat, but he can feel the warmth all along his side and maybe that's enough. Rather than blood, there's a current thrumming under Stiles' skin, and maybe that's enough.

 "I went to school, you know," Stiles says after Derek lets him pull arm across his shoulders. "I grew up as close to human as it was possible to be. My parents - uh, my manufacturers, they wanted to see how close to real life they could make me. I had friends, I did homework. They wouldn't let me be valedictorian because I had an unfair advantage, or so they said."

 Derek frowns. Laura reaches over and squeezes Stiles' arm comfortingly. "Any girlfriends or boyfriends?" she asks, and that's the tone she uses when she's coaxing Derek out of a bad mood, one that's affectionate and teasing.

 Stiles laughs, a sudden, harsh sound. "Nobody wanted to be with a robot," he says quietly. "No matter how many lacrosse games I played in and helped win, no matter how many lengths I did, how smart I was, nobody wanted to be with something cold and lifeless."

 Laura gives Derek a pointed look while Stiles gazes at his feet. "You're not cold or lifeless," Derek says after a few moments. "Stiles, you're not. You're the most human of any of us."

 Stiles glances up and gives him a sad smile. "I know," he says. "You're werewolves, though, so that doesn't count," he lets out a laugh as Derek and Laura exchange identical raised eyebrow glances. "You two are about as subtle as a punch in the face, and I'm super intelligent - please don't tell me you _actually_ thought I didn't know?"

 "You're a little shit, Stiles," Laura says, hooking an arm around Stiles'. Stiles smiles for the first time, a proper smile, since leaving Erica and Boyd's.

*

 Stiles comes bounding into Derek's room the following morning. He bounces on the balls of his feet like an eager puppy until Derek sits up and opens his eyes enough to glare at Stiles.

 "I have a job!" Stiles says, brandishing a piece of paper. It has a scriptive handwriting on it - an address, date and time. "Well, I have a job _interview_ , which could lead to a job!"

 Derek rubs the sleep out of his eyes, still not quite firing on all cylinders. "Where at?" he croaks.

 "It's just a temp thing," Stiles says, no less excited for it. "But it's good, right? It means I'm not driving you mad hanging around the apartment all day, and I can contribute to the place. I hate just being part of the furniture, you know? So it's just taking minutes for business meetings and stuff - nothing that's going to stretch the realms of my capabilities."

 Derek frowns, scrubbing a hand over his face and then through his hair. "We don't think of you as just part of the furniture," he says. "Is that what you think? Stiles, you're more than part of the furniture - you're a _person_ , just as much as Laura and I."

 "As a person, I should have to help pay for bills and stuff - I _know_ I use up a lot more electricity than both of you combined. I can't expect you to both just keep paying for me when I don't do anything to help."

 "You cook and clean," Derek says. "Constantly. Since you've been here, you've alphabetised and colour-coded mine and Laura's books, sorted the vinyl collection by _date_. You earn your keep - you don't _have_ to work, and I don't mind having you around the apartment all the time.

 "Derek, I really want to do this," Stiles says, sidling over and sitting down beside Derek. "I _want_ to contribute. It's nice to know you and Laura don't think of me as anything less than you are yourselves, but I want to do this for me, you know? I want some semblance of self worth. Cooking and cleaning are easy - I'm a little obsessive about order, and you two enable me, and I have thousands of recipes stored up in my brain not being put to any use anyway. I don't go out of my way to do those things - I just do them, because I did them for the Whittemores and they're kind of part of who I am anyway."

 Derek nodded and put a hand on Stiles' knee, squeezing through the fabric of his jeans. "We'll support you no matter what you want to do," he says. "I'm happy for you. You're probably gonna be best off asking Laura to help you dress for your interview, though - _this_ is my work attire."

 Derek's sitting in just his boxers, sheets swathed around his hips. Stiles' gaze roves over him and his lips quirk. He nods and pushes his fingers through his own hair - a gesture so _human_ it takes Derek off guard for a few seconds. Stiles is always doing that; being so much better at being a human being than Derek could ever hope to be. Derek still growls and snaps in his sleep, finds himself tipping his head to one side when he's concentrating on listening. Stiles grins at him and they're silent for a few minutes, just watching one another. Derek's still just as fascinated by Stiles as he was the first time he got him powered up and settled in the easy chair.

 "When's your interview?" Derek asks, his voice still a little sleep rough, or so he tells himself.

 "Today! Noon," Stiles says, his arms twitching. "I'm gonna get changed! I had some really nice suits at the Whittemores', but I guess those went missing. Do you have any shirts? I have dress pants and blazers - Laura talked me into buying them, but I don't really have any nice shirts."

 Derek gestures at his wardrobe. "Help yourself," he says, flopping backwards onto his bed. Stiles grins and launches himself across the room, a veritable blur of movement.

*

Stiles gets home later that afternoon and walks straight past Derek at the breakfast bar, ducking into Derek's room and plugging himself into the recharge cell. Derek frowns and follows just in time to see Stiles power himself down. Something in his stomach sinks and he returns to the kitchen, picking up his laptop and heading into his room, settling himself on his bed to continue working.

 Stiles wakes himself up a few hours later and the set of his shoulders makes it clear he doesn't want to talk. Derek glances at him over the lid of his laptop, watching him change out of his smart clothes - he averts his eyes when Stiles' trousers drop from his hips to pool on the floor - and into the sweats and t-shirt Derek had first given him.

 He drops down onto Derek's bed and Derek abandons all pretense of work. He shoves his laptop to the side and lifts his arm, saying nothing as Stiles curls himself against Derek's side and pulls Derek's arm around his shoulders, holding onto his wrist with both hands.

 "Want to talk about it?"

 Stiles shakes his head.

 Ten minutes pass, and then twenty. Derek's half convinced Stiles has shut himself down again, but then he shifts, lifting his chin and resting the back of his head against Derek's upper arm. "They didn't want me because I'm not human," he says quietly. "They don't think I'm suitable because I could short out - I could be unreliable, I could _malfunction_."

 "Humans malfunction all the time," Derek says. " _Werewolves_ malfunction all the time."

 "I know," Stiles says, and then shakes his head. "I pointed out that I'm twice as smart as any human they could possibly hire - I can hold more information, retain full conversations without even thinking about it. They took offense - apparently humans don't like being told they're human."

 Derek stifles a laugh and turns his head to press his lips to Stiles' forehead. He freezes for a second, but Stiles doesn't shove him away or freak out, so he relaxes, keeping his mouth there. "They're stupid," he says. "They should have been clambering over themselves for you. What was the company?"

 "Harris and Finstock," Stiles says with a sigh. "One creepy and the other half crazy. I guess it's a good thing I didn't end up working for them. Harris gave me the impression I'd have been filing for sexual harassment before the end of the month. Finstock seemed okay - if being as nuts as a bag of angry cats is okay."

 This time, Derek does laugh. "You'll find something, Stiles," he says. "And I've already told you, Laura and I like having you around - you earn your keep without having to earn a wage, too, but we will support you if you want to continue looking for a job."

 "I was thinking, maybe cleaning and cooking for you guys is okay," Stiles says. "I like being with you, and Laura's nice. You don't think I'm annoying and haven't told me to shut up, even when I start talking about the entire history of the male circumcision - it's nice, it's comfortable. I don't think I like the real world. It's just people like the Whittemores, creeps like Harris, and crazies like Finstock. I like you, a lot, and Laura, Boyd, Isaac and Erica are like my family."

 Derek holds his breath as he moves his hand to lace his fingers with Stiles'. Stiles squeezes back and turns his body even more towards Derek's, curling up more securely against him.

 "You're going to phone them, aren't you?" Stiles sighs, and his tone is more resigned than curious. Derek's grin is wolfish.

 "I may not wear a suit and tie, but I could wipe the floor with their company any day," Derek says. "I don't like to throw my power and money around, but I think this could be worth it."

 Stiles' eyelashes brush Derek's neck and he tightens his hold on Stiles' hand, pulling him closer still. Stiles laughs and nuzzles closer. For the first time in a long time, Derek allows himself to just _be_. This could be okay. This could work.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://obroech.tumblr.com/)! Come say hi!


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